


f{\ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



ill 



020 392 610 8 



Hollinger Corp. 
pH8.5 



PS 3545 
.14 P3 
1915 
Copy 1 



^e Passing of Mars 



A Modern Morality Play 
MARGUERITE WILKINSON 

Author of "In Vivid'Cardens" and 
"By a Western Wayside" 



Once, long ago, a peasant greatly desired to visit 
his king that he might obtain of him judgment and 
equity, and perhaps find favor. But he said within 
himself, "I am a faulty man; a homespun smock will 
scarce commend me to a king. I will stay at home 
and let others plead my case." And ivhen his case 
was taken before the king, (who was a good and just 
man) the king said, "Why did he not come himself? 
Homespun I can forgive if a man bring his soul and 
stand before me bravely. I will have no dealings with 
go-betweens." 

Here then, is my work, faulty, and plainly clad, bxit 
brave enough to go humbly before you who read and 
think, and by your thinking rule. If it find favor, it 
can be clothed anew in finer raiment. If judgment and 
equity prevail against it, surely it is loell enough 
shrouded. 



TV 



To tke memory of 

my father, 

.ng and valiant lover of the soul of i 

to Lis brave mate 

my mother 

By tra„uf.f er 
The miite Hous-3. 



PERSONS OF THE PLAY 
Mars, the ancient god of war. 
Soul of Man, his immortal enemy. 

it^o"^^' I ^^ cartoon costumes. 

Religion, two personalities. 

Cult, the bastard brother of Religion, a fantastic 

poseur. 
Flip, a modern, the sophisticated intellect of large 

cities. 
Science, a strong youth in laboratory costume. 
Poetry, a serene old bard with a lyre. 
Music, a fair woman. 
Glamour, her seducer, wearing tinsel. 
Trade, a harlot. 

The Old Mother, a plain sibyl of the people. 
Men, women and children of the fighting nations of 

Europe in national peasant costumes. 



THE SCENE 
The World Field, at harvest time and set of sun. 
On the right is The World Inn, and, in front of it, 
on the ground, a prostrate figure, clad in black 
and hound. Soul op Man. On the left, near the 
front, are trees and floivers, piles of fruit and vege- 
tables, a wagon load of grain, and, in the foreground, 
a tangle of vines, in ivhich lies Mars, fast asleep. On 
the steps of The World Inn sits The Old Mother 
ivatching the women of all nations who are sitting 
sewing, chatting and tending babies in the center. 
At the back a road winds across from left to right 
and young girls are walking up and down with arms 
around each other's shoulders, singing and laughing. 
The melody {"The Happy Farmer") dies away grad- 
ually and a church bell is heard — The Angelus. There 
is a religious silence lasting for a moment or ttvo. 



- ^ ^ ANOTHER WOMAN 

Well, there's a plenty. We are neighbors all 
And what one lacks the others can supply, 
For all the world will share the harvest feast. 



m 



The Angelus ! 

ANOTHER 

Already day is gone 

And gone almost as soon as we began it. 

So goes it nowadays ! 

THE OLD MOTHER, 
It was not so — 

Days did not hurry through sweet hours to joy 
When I was young, when I was bride and wife ! 

FIRST WOMAN 
Another blessed eventide is come 
To bring to happy women-folk at last 
Their weary men, all hungry for their supper. 

A CHILD 
And some for me. I wants my suppie too ! 



THE OLD MOTHER, 
Yea, all the world is here, or will be soon, 
Save my good mate and my five strapping lads 
Who were my world and rotted years ago. 

THE WOMAN 
There, mother, there — forget the old sad past, 
For all the world is sweet with harvest scent. 
And we are glad. Come, share with us our joy. 

THE OLD MOTHER, 

Forget? Forget? Who tells me to forget? 

A silly chit with everything to learn, 

A ninny who has lived while life is peace 

And therefore thinks that peace has always been 

As it is now. Say, girl, would you forget 

That man of yours torn from between your breasts 

And sent to splice with sabres and with shells? 

Could you forget a baby's filthy death 

By plague or famine or infesting flies — 

A son's abasement or a daughter's rape — 

These things could you forget? I never shall. 

I would be of another race and kind, 

A woman who remembers what has been, 

Who knows that some day it may come again 

THE FIRST WOMAN 
Poor soul, there— I am sorry. I did not know. 
We speak but foolishly to soothe a pain 
Which we have never felt. 

THE OLD MOTHER, 
Ah, pray that you 
May never, never know what I have known. 

THE WOMAN 
Ay, that I will. But come, and share our joy. 
For there is none to-night to presage woe. 

THE OLD MOTHER, 
None save myself. My old bones feel the cold — 
I sense a sorry blackening of the sun 
As night comes on, and any heap of fruit, 
Yes, any wagon load of yellow grain 
May hide from these old eyes their enemy. 

THE WOMAN 
(shrugging her shoulders) 
Well, hide your grief, poor soul, if grieve you must; 
The men, who look for rest, will soon be home. 

THE OLD MOTHER, 
But not to me are any comings home, 

Although I keep The World Inn day by day 

Yet 'tis an ill thing and a sign of trouble 
For to be weeping when the men come home — 
The men, who should find smiles at set of sun, 
Who should be fed and coddled to their rest. 
These splendid children, when they come to us. 
I will make ready. I will dry my tears. 

(Exit The Old Mother into the World Inn. Voices are heard 
ivithout, coming nearer.) 

A WOMAN 



ANOTHER WOMAN 



ANOTHER WOMAN 
My husband — there he is ! 

A CHILD 
Here is my daddie ! Daddie, gimme a kiss ! 

(The men enter in groups of twos and threes ivith dinner pails 
and tools. They find their families or greet their sweethearts 
and most of the happy couples go off down the road together at 
the left. A few enter The World Inn. There is the rattle of 
dishes, laughter and good cheer. The sun sinks perceptibly and 
it grows darker. Enter Capital and Labor, quarreling.) 

CAPITAL 
The pumpkins here are mine, good fellow, mine ! 
[ bought the seed, you know. 

LABOR 
I broke the earth — 

I strove with wind and frost and burning drought 
To make them grow more golden day by day. 

CAPITAL 
Tut, tut, man. That is nought. I own the land. 
You can but work it since I give consent. 
Small credit that a man does what he must 
If he would live. 



LABOR 



I gave my very life. 



CAPITAL 

{snapping his fingers) 

What is your life but like a billion more? 

(Enter Flip, costumed as gentleman of fashion) 

FLIP 

Are there indeed a billion Labors? If so, they will 
soon keep you busy, Capital, old top, as busy as you 
would like to keep them. You may grow thin — 
consummation devoutly to be wished! just a little bit 
off the front — if these chaps keep on giving their lives 
to your pumpkins. But if there be a billion just 
alike — 

CAPITAL 
In all the world there are but few like me ! 



Amen. So be it. Too many yous in one street car 
would be the hell of a crowd, if you travelled in 
street cars. And too many yous would be poor com- 
pany for one another. Wherever one man has a bulge 
to his stomach, another must find his a siege and a 
retreat. Well, friends, tell me your troubles, and I 
will be a judge without the recall and a jury without 
opinions to settle the case. 

LABOR 
Both of us love the lady men call Trade. 

FLIP 
The prettiest of all she-devils, she — 

LABOR 
And she is pliant ever to his will 
Who has most power. And we do both contend 
That power resides in pumpkins — but I claim — 

CAPITAL 
Of pumpkins we were speaking. Be exact. 

(To Flip) 
He claims them all because he planted them. 
Could he have planted them without my aid 
Who pay the wage that buys his daily bread? 



LABOR 
I furnish you, your bread, Capital, 
And cake besides. You do not live on pumpkins ! 
All, all is mine. Without me you would die. 

FLIP 

Peace, peace. Neither of you could live on pumpkins, 
nor on power, nor would it suffice for either to have 
complete possession of his heart's desire, the harlot 
Trade. To live on pumpkins — Lord, what a diet! 
Thick — yellow — mushy — with never a hint of stimula- 
tion for the uplift of the soul. We must have souls, 
nowadays, for it is the thing. They are nearly as 
common as tuberculosis, and quite as tragic. But 
those who go awhoring think not deeply of their souls 
lest they repent. And I would not feed my soul on 
pumpkin to outwit Capital and appease Labor — no 
not I. Rather would I turn vitieulturist and try the 
grape cure ! 

LABOR 
Raisins or pumpkins, it is all the same ; 
These things are mine, for I have made them be. 
I, I deliver earth of what she bears 
And am chief nurse at Nature's lying-in. 

FLIP 
A very shocking nurse I will be bound — to go from 
the sacredness of Nature's childbed, to woo Trade — 
verily, if the wages of sin be death, that would be 
going from the cradle to the grave ! 

CAPITAL 

(self-righteously) 

For my part I make no pretense at all ! 

FLIP 

(slapping Labor on the shoulder) 

Come, Labor, not so seriously, old top. It is not in 
good form to care so much. We are grown light of 
touch, to-day, and laugh at bombast. And as for the 
two of you, a true philosopher Avould tell you that, if 
you were a little more glib and smug, and Capital a 
little more smug and glib, men could scarce estimate 
the value of the one over the other? And what mat- 
ters a label if, by accident, or skill, or the lack of it, 
the one of you can change places, sometimes, with the 
other? And what matters the ownership if I can so 
hamper your operations as to take too much toll 
from both? 

CAPITAL 
(sulky and bewildered) 

I do but set my label on my own — 

LABOR 
A dollar sign on earth and sea and sky ! 

FLIP 
A dollar sign is a good thing anywhere. I'd wear it 
over all the sense I have. And, were I to fill your 
place. Capital, I should be content with dollar signs 
and labels, and not dispute with poor Labor about 
his pumpkin pie. I Avould even give him more than 
one slice if he wanted it. He would then think him- 
self rich, and lapse into content for an aeon or two. 
And surely there is more than one way of winning a 
lady? 

LABOR 
Be silent. Flip ; I do not like your wit. 
This is The World Field that I till and sow 
And woo and threaten, and at last, coerce, 
Until it is the wife of my command 



To bear me children of my days of toil. 
Shall I be cheated of these children, then, 
With smiling face and showy courtesy? 
I tell you no. For I am grown too strong — 
And I am wiser than I used to be — 
I could make garbage of his flabby paunch 
And beat his brains to swill ! 

FLIP 

(ivith mock alarm, running to left and calling) 

Trade ! Trade ! you jade — Come here and see your 
precious lovers fight .... 

(Enter Trade, disdainfully, glancing first at Capital and then 
at Labor) 

CAPITAL 
I claimed the pumpkins all for you, my dear. 

LABOR 

(ivith less gallantry) 

What is not his no decent man can claim. 

TRADE 

(laughing immoderately) 

Pumpkins? Who cares for pumpkins? No — not I. 

I only mentioned them to keep you busy. 

For I can hardly settle with you yet. 

Nor judge the better lover of the twain. 

For, at this time, great kings take thought for me — 

Princes and leaders of the people crave 

My kindness — and myself. You two must wait. 

LABOR 
Know then it was not all for you I spoke. 
But for a principle — for that I fight. 

{Labor turns up his sleeves, clenches his fist and takes a stride 
or ttxjo toward Capital, who is frightened and blows a whistle in 
alarm. Enter Religion from The World Inn, a little man in 
black, carrying a book, who trots up to Capital as to a master. 
Capital pinions his two arms and holds Religion in front of him. 
Labor laughs roughly and begins to pull off his shirt.) 

LABOR 
Come, Flip, your wit is all too deep for me, 
But, if Religion is to second him, 
I would depend on you in my good cause. 
Come, help me strip and then, a fight, a fight ! 

FLIP 

(Hesitates, goes to help him, speaks gently.) 
A fight is a noisy affair. Labor, and wakes many 
sleepers. There is one over in the corner who should 
not on any account be disturbed. For, once wakened, 
he is hard to quiet. 

LABOR 
You speak too late — come — help — my shirt is tight ! 



(seizing the shirt, gives one tug and then ivithdraws in haste, 
holding his nose.) 

You are too sweaty. Labor. Sorry, old top, but I 
can't stand it. Muscles are a rare thing nowadays, 
and I would like to see yours, since you are not afraid 
to waken that old fear under the vines. And these 
modern epics are amusing, wherein Achilles carries 
a dinner pail and Ulysses turns syndicalist. But, if 
I must act as a second and pull off men's shirts, com- 
mend me to a man who has money enough to buy 
soap and time for a bath, and that, though he were 
not half so good to look upon. 



LABOR 

(outraged, and flinging his shirt at Flip) 

Take you my sweat upon your silly face 
And stand aside to watch me fight alone 



CAPITAL 

(Retreating and holding Religion in front of himself) 

Preach me a gospel to this fighting fool, 
A pretty gospel of The Prince of Peace, 
Religion, you whom I have paid and kept. 

RELIGION 
(Trying to command himself and speaking hurriedly) 

I will, I will — but wait. For I must think — 
The Word has not the weight that once it had. 
Come, Labor, my good man, what is amiss? 
Come, come, no fighting — that is very wrong. . . . 
Be meek and humble as the good book says ! 

LABOR 
I loved the good book and its precepts well 
In the old days when first my faith in you 
Kept me from fighting save at your behest 
And for your sake. I listened to you, then. 
You were the Light and in your way I walked. 
Loving and dreaming ; but the dreams are gone 
Like your old stature, fervency and power. 
Sermons in livery I will not heed, 
A flunkey 's stale rebuke I do abhor ! 
A bought man cannot teach the strong and free — 
My soul is pure, and will not brook your touch ! 

FLIP 
His soul? Where is it, I wonder? They always talk 
about them, but where are they? Two dunderheads 
and an adlepate trying to make righteousness out of 
their own inclinations by converse about souls ! bah ! 

SOUL OF MAN 
Yet, where men are, I am — yes, even here ! 

(All look about and show that their attention has been arrested, 
but no one sees Soul of Man, nor discovers where the voice comes 
from.) 

LABOR 

(to Religion) 

Strip off that livery and get you gone. 
Because of faith that once I felt in you 
I cannot strike you now. But, beware ! 
For he must meet me face to face alone. 

RELIGION 
(Struggling to free himself from Capital and escape) 

If they would only listen to me, now — 



But they will not, Blackcoat, no. I can make men 
behave a few minutes at a time because I amuse them. 
One would think your derivative graces almost funny 
enough to serve the same purpose. But men do not 
want you to be funny. They would have you large 
and majestic, and to-day you do not seem big enough 
to enforce attention from any but an audience of 
corpses. These two. Labor and Capital, are not 
corpses, but red-blooded men, having given themselves 

over to the same ha fair lady. Trade. Unless you 

can regain your lost stature your day is over, Black- 
coat, over. But do your best, for we still need you. 

RELIGION 
Then will I call my bastard brother Cult, 
To help me out and to abate this strife — 
Cult, come hither, I have need of you. 



(Enter Cult in fantastic costume, carrying a crystal into ivhich he 
gazes. He ivalks slonvly, ivit/i an air of craft and mystery, and 
speaks in a droning monotone.) 

CULT 
Abracadabra — someone spoke my name — 
The aura that I wear about me shivered 
As if for vocal contact. I am here. 

(While Cult is speaking Trade comes slyly forward from the 
back, luhere she has been sitting, ivatching in disdainful amuse- 
ment, and gradually draivs nearer to the sleeping Mars.) 

RELIGION 
(to Cult) 
Brother, I need you here to stop a fight ; 
Labor and Capital — 

CULT 
Hush — I know all. 

I sense a mystery hidden in the brush — 
I feel, feel, feel, who am so sensitive. 
I will look through my crystal till I find it, 
And when I find it, that will stop the fight ! 

FLIP 
Abracadabra! He would look through a crystal to 
find what is hidden in brush and pumpkins. 

(Trade seats herself on the shield of Mars and lights a cigarette) 

LABOR 
Enough of nonsense. I am not a child 
That I should swallow all this mystic mush. 
If old Religion were what once he seemed, 
He never would have called on you, Cult. 

{Labor takes a step toivard Capital again, and Religion makes a 
gesture of appeal to Flip.) 

FLIP 

Blackcoat, there is no use. There is but one enemy 
who can drain them of their feverish passions and so 
reconcile them, the same who lies sleeping under the 
brush in the corner. He has slept long, and while 
he has been sleeping, women have indulged their hus- 
bands and borne too many children, and the world is 
full to overflowing; men have indulged their families 
in new luxuries of all kinds. All fear temperance as 
they fear death, for, like death it curbs desire. The 
Soul of Man, of whom we constantly hear, has not yet 
made himself conspicuous, although the women's 
clubs claim to know all about him. But, if the enemy 
should awaken — 

(Mars stirs in his sleep) 

CULT 

(Looking in another direction through his crystal) 

I see it in my glass that he is dead — 

(Trade, leaning over Mars, and glancing back at the others 
maliciously, drops her cigarette on Mars and anvakens him. Mars 
sits up and looks about.) 

CULT 

(ivithout seeing Mars and going off at right) 

By all the initiates, my aura feels 

The pressure of the knowledge of his death 

Who was the olden enemy. I know all 

(Mars rises and shakes his spear. Exeunt all the others, Capital 
and Labor in alarm. Religion timidly. Flip luith a philosopher's 
shrug, Trade laughing contemptuously.) 

(The sky grows dark and Mars strides up and down, singing or 
chanting and shaking his spear.) 

MARS 
Long have I slept, but now have I awakened, 
I, mighty Mars, the lover of the arrow. 



I, mighty Mars, the giver of the sabre, 

I, mighty Mars, the maker of the shrapnel. 

Monarch of heroes, gallantry and death. 

I am a spirit of man's body gendered, 

And, in the race, I am for everlasting. 

Calling mankind from home and task and kindred, 

Making men mad with foaming blood-delight. 

Kings I have kissed, with Victory and solace; 

Kings I have ruined. Who can stand beside me ? 

Who is strong to quell me ? Let him show his face ? 

Long have I slept, while Trade, the busy harlot. 
Kept her delights for Capital and Labor; 
Now let the whirr of singing mills be silent ! 
Now let the factory whistles hush their voices ! 
Now let the harvests in the fields be rotted ! 
Now let the shops be shut, the churches empty. 
That I may fill them with my sick and dying — 
Mine is dominion over day and night. 

Night is at hand, and, in The World Inn feasting 
Sitteth mankind, while I am keeping vigil. 
Such blood is rich — the sweeter for my drinking — 
Yea, I am avid of the fat of babies — 
None will I have but such as are the strongest — 
Cleanest and truest, proudest, richest, bravest — 
(Never a weakling can abide my presence 
For I am Mars, and speak the word of death) 
Lo! I will call my servants to my colors — 
One deed of fury licks a world to ashes- 
Bright, blasting winds sweep over croft and hearthside 
Leaving life dead. Who comes to challenge me ? 

SOUL OF MAN 
I challenge you, Mars, though straitly bound. 
Lo ! I shall break with love your ugly power. 

MARS 
A slave who would defy his conqueror ! 
Why, I did bind you with resistless chains 
Long centuries ago when earth was young. 

SOUL OF MAN 
I have grown strong since then. 

MARS 
Not strong enough. 

For I have wakened from my years of rest 
As zealous as a child to play his game. 
And you, not I, shall feel the limits of time 
Grow thin and sag and break beneath your form. 
Letting you fall into annihilation 
Through crackling fringes of what might have been. 

SOUL OF MAN 
You rave, Mars. What ravels with my weight 
Would break with yours, and yet this ancient stuff, 
This fibre of the human race is strong. 
You have most straitly bound, who cannot slay, 
That I might work the less in your long sleep, 
You, drunk with blood of lovers, satiate 
With rape of many women ! Yet men grow 
And love you less than when your sleep began. . . . 

(He struggles to free himself from his bonds, fails, in the at- 
tempt, falls forward on his face, groans. Mars laughs.) 

MARS 

Now I have need of my good servant. Science. 
Ho! Science! 



(Enter Science in the costum 
in his hand.) 



of the laboratory with a test tube 



SCIENCE 
Yes, mighty Mars, I am here. 
MARS 
Science, once more I have great need of you. 
I want the howitzers of Titan gods. 
And mad torpedoes mightier than of old, 
And airy fleets to rend the dizzy Heavens, 
Zeppelins and lighter craft, ill-omened birds 
To prey upon the towns that lie below; 
And I want wicked, wondrous submarines. 
Sly, devilish monsters of the deeps unknown, 
And battle cruisers ruinous and grim. 
Make me a ration that will keep men strong 
The longer for their task of blood and tears, 
Which is my game, my spectacle, my joy. 
And find me doctors, apt with splintered bones, 
And keen to cut the rotten flesh from sound, 
And to sew bodies up like burlap sacks 
That they may keep their contents still secure. 
What say you, Science, will you serve me still? 

SCIENCE 
You know I am a neutral servant, Mars, 
To whomsoever can command my laws. 
I have not much emotion for a choice. 
Yet, were I free, to-day, I would say no; 
For I have great discoveries at heart 
And great experiments have undertaken 
Which yet may bring milleniums to men. 
Which must be interrupted if I yield. 
Therefore I would return to my own task, 
And yet, if Capital and Labor will it, 
I must obey you. I must do your will. 

MARS 
Labor and Capital! 

(Enter Labor and Capital, still sullen) 

I must have war; 

Capital you must fight to save your own 
In every separate nation where you dwell. 
You, Labor, in all lands that you call home, 
Must fight to guard it, and acquit you well. 



LABOR 



I like it not at all ! 



No more do I ! 

LABOR 
I wanted Trade, and peace. 

CAPITAL 
And I the same. 

LABOR 
And we had questions of our own to settle, 
This Capital and I. Not yet, old Mars ! 

MARS 
Ay, now. Why Capital, you have grown so great 
You can work wonders over all the world. 
Have you no pride, Labor? Such a hero. 
With such great shoulders and such stalwart thighs. 
With such swart manhood and such virile temper, 
Meseems should hear my mandate with more joy. 
For both of you can learn the way of fighting 
And better settle your own private quarrel 
For lessons stern that I alone can teach you. 

(Labor and Capital turn toward each other and take a step or 
two away from Mars. They are muttering and murmuring to- 
gether as Flip enters.) 



FLIP 

May Heaven have mercy on the sheepskin degree I 
cribbed for in college ! What say the sages ? A com- 
mon fear unites foes of long standing. And here, 
verily, are Labor and Capital discoursing earnestly to- 
gether like young brides on the subject of biscuits. 
Are you, then, the cause of their peace, O Mars? 

MARS 
Well asked. Indeed they are too much afraid 
To seem like men. Men used to be more bold 
AVhen I was young. When earth was young with me 
They were not cowards — 

LABOR AND CAPITAL 

(wheeling about angrily) 

Nor are we cowards today ! 

FLIP 
More than a coward would fear you, master of blood- 
suckers. I like you not myself. I have come to dis- 
tract you a moment from your fell intention. If I 
were forced to do military service I should hope to 
eschew your company, albeit you have taken your 
place in history as a celebrity, some lion, take it from 
me. But, roar as you will, I won't invite you to my 
dinner parties. Nor could you convert me to your 
cause, for I am always ready to see both sides of a 
question, to embrace both ladies at once, as it were, 
with equal ardor and love. Apropos of that, friend 
Mars, a flea in your ear ! 

MARS 

Talk if you must, but do not talk too long 

FLIP 

(speaking rapidly — even earnestly) 

If you raise hob now, it will not add to your popu- 
larity one whit. There is nothing but stage bombast 
to fight about. There is a little need of Capital for 
expansion, and of Labor for more bread, since he 
breeds fifty per cent, too fast. There is the hope of en- 
larging certain rooms in The World Inn to accommo- 
date more strangers, or else of reducing the number 
of travellers who wish to sojourn therein. But you 
are not essential in the development of these designs, 
nor will they give you a good background for the act- 
ing of melodrama. You cannot shout "God and the 
right ! " as you did in the days when you were popu- 
lar and more or less necessary. To-day you are a bluff 
and we know it. So does your enemy, one Soul of 
Man, a personage as yet invisible to me, who may one 
day dissolve even my divine impudence into prudent 
beauty and make a hymnal out of my wit. With this 
thought I leave you. Look well before you leap, you 
heavy-weight. You may land in the trenches! 

(Exit Flip) 
MARS 
He talks too much. I live for gallant deeds ! 
You fellows here were arguing with me 
About my war. I will have your consent — 
They would be cowards who would answer nay .... 

(Reenter Flip) 



Here is The Daily Bewilderer running headlines that 
will delight you, Mars. Somebody has shot an arch- 
duke somewhere. Now, indeed, we shall be unable to 
hold you back! Now indeed we have fine cause for 



LABOR AND CAPITAL 

(going rapidly to Mars) 

We are not cowards. We serve you, mighty Mars. 

MARS 
My shield, my spear! Now am I well content. 
Go, Science, and prepare for this great war 
As Capital and Labor shall agree, 
And send me Poetry, my ancient friend! 

(Exeunt Science, Labor, Capital, and Flip. Enter Poetry.) 
MARS 
Poetry, it was you, who made my fame, 
Who taught the people all the best of me — 

POETRY 
]\Iars, I shall sing your praises nevermore, 
Nor shall the people need you evermore. 
I sing the people, as I always have, 
And, as they change, the new song of new times. 
Who till The World Field for the harvest's sake 
And feast in The World Inn at set of sun. 
And mate with healthy joy in one another. 
And gladly breed the children of the flesh 
And of the spirit, and who build our homes, 
Who cleanse and fashion, and repair your wrongs, 
These are my folk, and their new songs I sing, 
And a new era, burning bright with peace. 

(A chain breaks and frees the right arm of Soul of Man, ivho 
extends it in blessing toivard Poetry.) 

SOUL OF MAN 

Poetry, your word has broken bonds 
Forged long ago when earth was very young. 
Sing you for me till you and I together 
Shall leaven all this lump of humankind 
With the new yeast of kindly brotherhood. 
We'll purge the old earth of this festering fear 
And heal this cancer! Poetry, sing on! 

MARS 
(scornfully, to Poetry) 

1 need you not, then. I can do without you 
If I have Music and her seducer, Glamour. 
Come, Music! 

(Exit Poetry. Enter Music, in bonds to Glamour.) 
GLAMOUR 
I brought her in. She would have stayed behind 
To sing with Poetry for all mankind. 
But, once deceived, she can go free no more 
Save in the triiimph of the Soul of Llan, 
Who is your thrall. Come, Music, my good wench, 
Tell ]\Iars your service and your song are his. 

MUSIC 
If I must give myself against my will 
And where my instinct would make swift refusal, 
I will so give myself through J\lars to men 
That, treading in his flashing path of pain. 
They shall know less of him because of me. 
And I shall be their glory when his guns 
Vomit black horror upon body and soul. 
And I shall be their solace in the hours 
When stiffening Death would have them for his own. 
Oh woe is me that listened unto Glamour! 
Yet I aAvait your freedom, Soul of Man. 

MARS 
Tush, girl, a beauty like your precious self 
Has ever need of a more lusty lover — 
And such am I, and such is Glamour here ! 



What captive can a Avoman 's kisses keep ? 

Come, take my kiss, and then, throughout the world, 

Sing me the ballads that do make men wild! 

Give me the fro ward chanteys of the camp. 

Beat me the marches unto Victory, 

Or, with bravado, even unto Death. 

Come, come ; begin. The whole world waits for you ! 

(Music ivipes tears from her eyes and sets a bugle to her lips. 
Exit Music, sounding the advance, followed by Glamour. Then 
in close succession and increasing 'volume are heard the national 
anthems of the warring nations of Europe, in the order in which 
they declared war. It is dark and lights fash out in the dis- 
tance. There is more or less noise and confusion at the back. 
Horses, artillery, men, crossing and recrossing, running, march- 
ing, ivorking. Mars, proudly erect in the center shouts "Good!" 
and repeats it. A man, marching in with others, leagues his 
group and runs to the steps of The JVorld Inn.) 

THE MAN 
Are you there, dear ? I have come to say farewell ! 

A WOMAN 
(coming out to meet him.) 

Beloved, must you go? I am alone, 
Alone in all the world, and of our love 
A child, a little human flower is coming — 
Surely I need you most! 

THE MAN 
Tell him his father tried to do his duty 
And loved his country. Dear one, I must go ... . 

(They kiss passionately and the man rejoins his group and 
marches off. The woman flings herself down on the steps of 
The World Inn and weeps bitterly. There is more noise and 
confusion and then three youths come to the steps and call out.) 

THREE YOUTHS 
Mother Mother Mother ! 

(A woman comes forward holding wide arms for the three) 
THE WOMAN 
Children, you are not going — you, my babies? 
It seems but yesterday my body held you^ 
It seems but yesterday your toys were lying, 
Toy cannon and bright soldiers made of tin 
Upon the cottage floor. children, children. 
Who are just old enough at last to leave me — 
Surely you will not leave your poor old mother ? 

ONE BOY 
The bugle called us and we must be going — 
THE WOMAN, 

A bugle calls more strongly than a mother 

THE SECOND BOY 

We will come back to you as heroes, mother 

THE WOMAN, 

You were my heroes when you were my babies 

THE THIRD BOY 

You would not have us cowards to be near you 

THE WOMAN, 
I am Love 's coward — I never .... should .... have . . . 
made you 

(The lads kiss their mother and tear themselves from her arms. 
The anthems of the nations are repeated. The guns volley in 
the distance, getting louder and louder. Fires flame up and 
there is more or less noise and confusion. A woman runs out 
from The World Inn, sobbing.) 

THE WOMAN, 
I want my lover who was never mine. 
Will they not let him come to say farewell? 
Where are you, Desired of all my days? 



(She runs hither and thither looking for him, nvildly, and finally 
stumbles against Mars, shrieks, and tries to escape, but is caught 
and held by him. Mars roars his elation and carries her off at 
left screaming. There is a pause, utter quiet, absolute darkness. 
Then Mars returns alone and stumbles into The World Inn.) 

MARS 

Now I can feast me to my full content, 
And then, a little while, I shall have rest. 

(Exit Mars. There is another pause and silence ivhile it grad- 
ually becomes lighter. Men and ivomen are heard groaning, and, 
in the pale, eerie light, iveird moth-like figures, like ghosts of 
the dead, flit here and there across the field. When it becomes 
light enough to see, all the luorld is changed. Floivers, fruit, 
produce are gone. The ivagon that held the grain is noiv filled 
tvith corpses. On the ground are the sick and luounded, band- 
aged. The luomen waiting on them are lean, ragged, haggard. 
A few children are huddled together in silent terror. The scene 
is blackened as if by fire. On the steps of The World Inn sits 
The Old Mother, as in the beginning.) 

A WOMAN 
The daAvn is nearly here, the strange grey dawn ! 

ANOTHER WOMAN 
What bodes it now? Sunset or dawn or noon 
Are all alike to those who have seen hell 
And bear in body and soul the brand of sorrow. 

THE OLD MOTHER, 
'Twas even as I feared and as I spoke. 
So Avas it, children, in my younger days. 
The days that I can nevermore forget. 

(She rises and hobbles toward the wounded men.) 

Children of mothers' flesh this cannot last 

Forever. I am old and soon I die. 

And nothing can torment me very long. 

Wherefore I speak what youth might fear to say 

To you, as to my sons of long ago. 

Who died, as all your friends have died, in war. 

A MAN 
Speak, for we listen. 

THE OLD MOTHER, 
That is very well. 

For this is murder that ye did commit, 
For glamour and for vanity and lust, 
For selfishness in trade, and for all freedom 
To breed your own kind over all the earth. 
Each for himself and his own kind alone, 
Forgetting that ye all have suckled mothers. 
Forgetting that ye owe us fealty, 
And that ye owe it to yourselves to be 
Staunch farmers of the World Field, and good friends, 
One flesh, one love, one state, one family. 

A MAN 
Even that we might be able to achieve 
If one would help us to the holy way. 
We fight not for ourselves, good mother, no ! 
We fight for place, for honor and for home, 
For what the great, who lead us, say is best. 
The whims of senators, the dreams of kings; 
And often know not why our blood is poured, 
A turbulent, unholy river of lust. 
And when the people cry for war and shout 
The sure destruction of another nation 
It is because they fear and know that fear 
Is far more terrible than roughest strife. 
Nor are we fools to give up life with joy, 
Save when the feud of Capital and Labor 
Has made our minds a Hell of sordid warfare 
And clothed our gayety in querulous crepe. 
Then, in our desperate mourning for young joy. 



The sweetness and variety of life. 
The rainbow radiance and the cloth of gold 
That are youth's great inalienable right. 
We know no other way and follow blindly 
The one mad way that gives a thrill of glory. 
And frees our pulsing life. So are we made .... 
But we, who lie on beds of bloody sweat. 
Washed by our women's tears, we fain would see 
Another era of mankind made new. 
Young Titans, strong enough to war on war. 
This hoary curse from the stringy throat of Mars 
To answer and to silence and to choke ! 

OTHER MEN 
Mother, the way — the upward way from Hell ! 

THE OLD MOTHER, 
I'll show it, thankfully, and, if I do, 
I can go gaily, gladly to my grave 
As one who treads a quickstep of her youth. 
See, children, that strange figure, Soul of Man, 
In bonds to our arch enemy and his? 
He is our friend, and all our life v/ould share 
If we would only take him for our own. 
There is no morning made by sun and sea 
And towering mountains, larksong, flower breath 
And rapture, but his coming into it 
Can give a finer and diviner joy. 
There is no darkness, damp and fraught with death, 
Down-bearing, stifling, but his coming makes 
A rift of light, an easement of the strain. 
Now Mars, his foe, is held in ugly sleep. 
Full-fed on thin, raw flesh of women's babes. 
Deep drunken on the sap of many hearts — 
Be not deceived, for he will wake again. 
Unless ye learn of this good Soul of Man 
How to defy this Mars, and get you peace. 
Children, commend you to the Soul of Man. 

A MAN 
How can we free you, free you, Soul of Man? 

SOUL OF MAN 

I tremble — for my hour of joy is near 

Ah, can it be that I shall rise at last. 

Gay winged and glorious with the rising sun. 

To hover where mankind shall bloom anew 

In The World Field where only stubble was? 

Hearken ! For now, together ye must go, 

Not here a few and there a few, but all. 

And hale him forth, this monster butcher, now. 

While he is full and has no lust to feed. 

Yes, hale him forth into the light and look. 

And looking, know him truly as he is. 

If for that look he wake, defy his power. 

For your own sakes fight one more fight for peace. 

A MAN 
Alas, we are too weak for this god Mars, 
And some of us have known him all too well. 

SOUL OF MAN 
Who does my bidding has no sense of fear — 
For all the stars will shine into his night 
And all the winds acclaim him to the end. 
And this was true of Socrates and Christ, 
Of Lincoln and of all great harvesters 
In The World Field. It shall be so for you 
On the same terms of brave obedience. 
Do ye my bidding and ye shall be free 
And I, to live and grow with you, forever. 



(The people talk together in twos and threes. Enter Capital and 
Labor, tivo lean cripples supporting one another, followed by Flip, 
liho is ivearing deep mourning.) 

SOUL OF MAN 
Labor and Capital, be well content 
To lend me but yourselves. I ask no money. 
I lay no tax upon you as did Mars. 
And I do promise you an opulent peace, 
Wrought out with right goodwill between you soon 
For I know well what others do not know, 
But should discover by your present plight, 
That you must ever win or lose together, 
Sharing each other's burden and reward 
And I do promise sweet regeneration 
Your broken selves shall be made whole again 
When you have helped the people set me free . . . 

(Capital and Labor discuss the offer.) 
FLIP 
What will you do for me, Soul of Man, whom I can 
see and perceive at last? I have lost many rich rela- 
tions in this war and profited nothing — wherefore I 
wear mourning ! But if I turn my wit to good account 
by making men's anger funny, what will you do for 
me? 

SOUL OF MAN 
Your name, I'll change, and you yourself, good Flip, 
You shall be my own Humor, kindly spoken. 
And my strong Reason leading men to Truth — 
But look who comes with face of Galahad 
And thews of Ajax, wearing spotless white — 

(Enter Religion, a neiv personality, athletic and beautiful, wear- 
ing a short white garment with the symbols of the great religions 
wrought in gold upon the hem and carrying a shining cross. All 
the people turn and look and with one accord make obeisance.) 

THE PEOPLE 

Religion Religion Religion! 

SOUL OF MAN 
Religion, have you come to serve the people? 

LABOR 

(joyfully) 

Are you the old guest, radiant and serene? 

CAPITAL 
And will you lead against this bully, Mars? 

RELIGION 
Listen, for with new power I come to you 
Seeking to serve, claiming a mighty task. 



I was a sinner who had nibbled Truth 
And let its sweetness all dissolve away 
Into the rancid spittle of dead dogmas. 
The loss of your allegiance was the stroke 
That cleansed and chastened me. I have 
All the old wordy liquor of dead days. 
And all the prowess of my being now 
Shall foster and defend the Soul of Man. 

(The people cheer. A chain breaks, releasing the left arm of 
Soul of Man luho reaches out both arms in benediction.) 

SOUL OF MAN 
Then welcome, and thrice welcome, good Religion — 
Coming to serve, men will be glad to follow. 

happy folk of ages yet to be 

New flowering from the pollen of the past, 

1 see your budding glory everywhere. 

This is the spring and this the shining dawn — 

The men shall be as great grave trees at rest 

With the new strength that grapples, grows, and gives, 

And the world's women even as her men. 

And fruitful as the orchards of the valley. 

And little children dancing with delight 

Shall blossom fearlessly, in perfect grace. 

Like windblown poppies nodding in the sun. 

And all The World Field shall be cropped in peace 

And all the sheaves of life shall be brought home — 

Such fruitage for High God is in your lives 

As I had never dreamed in life's beginning. 

This is the dawn, the spring, and we are planting 

The harvest that the race shall gather in. 

Therefore to Mars, and quickly bring him hither! 

(Religion and The Old Mother lead the people up the steps 
and into The World Inn, the people cheering and shouting. 
Then there is a moment of silence, after which they come out 
again, carrying the dead body of Mars.) 

A MAN 
He is dead, old Mars, and must have died of fear ! 

(The chains drop from the body of Soul of Man, and he, leap- 
ing to his feet, runs to take his place in the center, in front of 
the body of Mars and in a widening semi-circle of the people. 
His black garment falls on Mars, and Soul of Man is 
transfigured, a radiant figure in blue and gold and crimson, 
with flaming wings rising behind him and above. The people, 
also, are glorified by the rising of the sun behind them. They 

(There is heard the triumphant singing of "The Hallelujah 
Chorus"). 



Published and for sale hy 

MARGUERITE WILKINSON 

CORONADO. CAL. 
Price, 50 cents, postpaid 



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EXTRACTS FROM REVIEWS OF 
"IN VIVID GARDENS ' 

"A rich contralto voice singing out of the deepest experiences of life." — Poetry. 
"The emotions are human, lofty and honorable; their voicing is sincere, passionate, and at 
imes exalted. " — Twentieth Century Magazine. 

"Few of the modern poets can so easily convince the doubting ones of the necessity of their 
vocation as the author of this slender volume of verse." — Chicago Daily News. 

"Aside from their poetic beauty, the verses possess a dignity, wholesomeness and outspoken 
valiance that carry conviction. Sincerity is their dominant note; they are the utterance of one who 
has heard 'the quiet but far-reaching voice of truth.' " — The Craftsman. 

"The vigor of its thought raises it above questions of technique, and it is poetry unquestion- 
ably, inevitably, simply because it is the authentic voice of womanhood proclaiming itself in the 
unfaltering accents of real passion." — Harold Monro in The Poetry Review (London, 1912). 

"Sincere, unconventional, forthright verse."— The Oakland Enquirer. 

"A human document, even a social document."- The New York Times. 

"Distinctly worthy oi note. "—Chicago Record-Herald. 

"Here is a new song under the sun, a woman's love song which neither pretends to be a 
man's love song, nor confines itself to feelings which most men are accustomed to think of women 
as having. It is is solar, not lunar; it is clear with its own light and warm with its own fire." — The 
Chicago Evening Post. 

"The poems in this volume are as meat and wine to literary tastes." — Albany Times- Union. 

"Not only do we have the woman spirit here, but a poetical spirit of no mean sort." — 
Z ion's Herald. 

"It is clear, true poetry, without aping, effusiveness, or striving for effect; the refraction of 
momentous personal experience through a richly-dowered soul. It is also precious as an exquisite 
voicing of pure womanliness in its highest phase. It is worthy not only to be enjoyed, but to be 
studied as a clueto thesoul of the coming woman." — Edward A. Ross, Author of "Sin and Society," 
"The Changing Chinese," etc., etc. 

"No clearer voice than that of Marguerite Wilkinson sings today of the coming woman and of 
the democracy we are working for. 'In Vivid Gardens,' a glimpse into the souls of women, was 
her first book of poems." — Life and Labor. 

"In Vivid Gardens," Sherman. French ^ Co., Publishers, Boston 






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